


the dil-dos and dil-don'ts of roommate etiquette

by iksnilits



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Anal Sex, Comeplay, Crack, Enemies to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-02
Updated: 2015-09-02
Packaged: 2018-04-18 14:58:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4710131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iksnilits/pseuds/iksnilits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>sooo, tropicalwitch, I really hope you like this! sorry it's on the shorter side of things. </p><p>for the prompt: <strong>I left my dildo in the dishwasher and my room mate who I think hates me found it</strong></p><p>side Lilo, warnings for ... a p graphic sex scene at the end and a slightly dickish Zayn?</p><p>and thanks to my beta, eva, who chose to remain un-linked, but they're amazing !</p><p>thank you for reading and as always, comments are appreciated !</p>
            </blockquote>





	the dil-dos and dil-don'ts of roommate etiquette

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tropicalwitch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tropicalwitch/gifts).



**1\. Louis**

“No,” Zayn says, after the voicemail stops playing. “Sounds like a douche.”

“Zayn, you’ve said no to the last four applicants,” says Liam, ever patient. “Even the banker guy who only wanted a room for the weekends.”

“Banker guy was gonna pay full rent, too,” Louis adds. “The next semi-normal, employed, and reasonably clean person that calls is getting the room.”

Zayn sighs, wrinkling his nose. The banker guy had a weird vibe about him. “Standards have never been lower.”

“Sorry I’m poor,” Louis says, aimlessly scrolling through the ‘rooms wanted’ section of Craiglist. “I can’t afford to not rent the room out. Anyway, our ad is up. If someone calls, Zayn, you’re not allowed to answer. And could you please, _please_ , paint over all that spraypaint on the walls? Somehow I don’t think our new roommate will want giant decorative penises everywhere.”

“You don’t know real art,” Niall says from his corner of the sagging, ratty couch. “Great penises, Zayn.”

“Thank you, Niall,” Zayn shouts, already on his way upstairs.

“Honestly,” Louis says. “You all owe me. I am graciously allowing you to stay in this beautiful home for very, very cheap. And it will be even cheaper if you would stop being such picky assholes about this.”

Liam pats the top of Louis’ head as he walks to the kitchen. “Love you, Lou. It’ll work out.”

Niall doesn’t miss the way Louis’ cheeks go pink.

Louis is somewhat correct – there’s nowhere else in LA that you could find a room for under $600 a month that’s not filled with unidentifiable decaying garbage. Zayn, Liam, and Niall all definitely owe him. Even though, yeah, the hot water doesn’t always choose to work. And they’re right next to the freeway. And their neighbors are weird as shit.

But besides those small drawbacks, their house is great.

Zayn’s got the attic to himself for now – there’s no AC, and there is an alarming number of mice living in the roof, but Zayn’s turned it into a paint-encrusted swirl of color, hanging gauzy sheets from the ceiling and interior-decorating like a pro.

Liam’s in the bedroom next to Louis, and his room is almost identical to how it was when they were in fifth grade: superhero posters, milk crates of comic books and CD cases, plus a little album collection that’s been growing steadily for the past few months. Louis enjoys the fact that Liam is almost obsessively neat, since Louis himself is a disgusting packrat and slob, and can be found in Liam’s room 80% of the time.

Niall was the last of them to move in – he’s got the basement. He’d found them on Craigslist too, when Zayn, Liam, and Louis all moved into Louis’ parents’ rental house after college and needed a fourth roommate to make rent. It feels like their own house though, mostly because Louis’ parents have moved to Maine to try their hands at syrup farming and only call about renters’ insurance once a year.

The fifth room is across the hall from Zayn, a tiny space squeezed up in the corner. Actually, they’re pretty sure it’s just a big closet, but the cost of living is ridiculous and unless Zayn starts selling his used underwear online, they’re going to need another roommate.

So of course no one calls for a week, and Louis is about to abandon all hope, delete the ad and begin begging in front of the strip mall across the street.

“Whazzat,” he mumbles into his phone, jolted awake at the ungodly hour of six in the morning.

“Hiiiii,” a voice singsongs, low in his ear. “I’m calling about the room for rent? Hope it’s not too early to call, I tried to wait a little while.”

“Um,” Louis says, sitting upright and scrubbing at his eyes with the heel of his hand. “Yes. Yeah – the room. Would you like to see. The room,” he gets out, yawning so wide his jaw cracks.

“Yes,” the person on the phone says, amused. “Is today okay? I really just want to find a place as soon as possible. Oh – I’m Harry, by the way.”

“I’m Louis,” Louis says. “Sure. Come over whenever, the address is on the ad.”

“Neat,” Harry says, and Louis can almost see the ear-to-ear smile. “See ya soon.”

“Alright, bye,” says Louis. “Wait – soon?” Too late. Harry’s hung up. His phone beeps consolingly as it ends the call.

“Fuck, _fuck_ , fuck,” he mumbles, scraping a hand through his hair and levering himself to his feet to brush his teeth and wake up the rest of the house on this beautiful summer morning so they can scrape Cheerios off the floor in time for their potential new roommate’s arrival.

“No,” Niall says, when Louis pokes at his arm. “Nope.”

“Please,” Louis begs, in an uncharacteristic show of weakness, before trying to drag Niall forcefully out of bed and getting a kick to the kidney as a result.

Louis gives up on Niall to preserve his other un-ruptured internal organs, and jogs up the stairs to Zayn’s room, where Zayn refuses to wake up. He’s definitely faking it. Whatever.

Liam is just as comatose, but he’s laying spread out on his twin bed, his sweats all pulled down while he sleeps, hanging dangerous off the clean lines of his abdomen – and nope, Louis is not going there. He swallows around a suddenly dry throat and shuts Liam’s door.

Alright then.

Louis commences aggressive vacuuming and scrubbing, banging into furniture and slamming cupboards as loud as possible. If he has to be awake _and_ clean, the rest of them sure as fuck aren’t going to sleep in either.

He’s just fishing a pair of Niall’s boxers out from under the couch, Blink-182 blasting from the tiny little iHome perched in the kitchen, when the front door creaks open and some hippie walks in.

“You must be Harry,” Louis says to the hippie. The guy – Harry’s – hair is long and curling around his shoulders, his boots toed inward and scuffed half to death. His floral button-down really just adds to his overall ambiance. Honestly, he looks like the guys Zayn brings home.

Harry grins wide and blisteringly bright, holding out his hand. “And you must be Louis. So this is your home?”

“Yeah, well, my parents’, but I’m renting it out,” Louis says. “Shall we do the tour?”

“Please,” says Harry, following Louis into the kitchen.

Harry makes little approving noises as Louis leads them around.

“Here’s Liam’s room,” Louis says, nudging at the doorframe. “My room here. And Niall’s downstairs in the basement. Zayn’s upstairs. He’s across from the open room, come on up.”

Harry is weirdly pleased about how small the room is. He says something about feng shui and living spaces, but Louis kind of tunes out because while Harry is nice, he does _not_ get to the point quickly.

“So,” Louis says brightly, when Harry pauses for a breath. “You like it? Wanna move in?”

“Just like that?” Harry says, confused.

“Sure,” Louis says, yawning. “You can make rent on time? No parties?” Harry nods. “All yours. I’ll get you a key downstairs.”

“You don’t want the other guys to meet me?” says Harry, nodding his head toward Zayn’s room.

“Nah, they’ll be fine,” Louis says. “It’s my decision, mostly. You’re cool.”

“Nice,” Harry says, still wary, and they squeeze out of the room into the hallway.

Zayn’s door opens to reveal Zayn in all his shirtless glory, squinting into the sunlight illuminating the hall.

Harry’s kind of staring. And also blocking the path to the bathroom.

“Move,” Zayn grumbles, wielding his toothbrush like a knife.

Harry moves. Louis almost wants to reach out and shut Harry’s jaw from its current wide-open position.

Zayn really is a sight to behold, even at seven in the morning. His blond buzzcut, tattoos everywhere and scruffy little beard has corrupted weaker men. Harry is not immune to his charms, it seems.

“That would be Zayn?” Harry says, scratching the back of his neck after Zayn shuts himself in the bathroom.

“Yeeeep,” Louis says, smirking.

“Seems friendly,” says Harry.

**2\. Niall**

So that seemed to set the tone for the Harry/Zayn dynamic. Niall is a little surprised they’re not fucking constantly, to be honest. Harry is, as stated above, exactly Zayn’s type. And Zayn seems to be exactly Harry’s type, judging by the obscene stares Harry levels his way when he thinks no one is looking.

Regardless, the whole extreme sexual tension thing combined with the absurd passive-aggressiveness exhibited by both of them is just killing Niall’s good vibes.

He tries a little harder to include Harry in things – because Zayn won’t talk to the poor guy, for whatever reason, which leaves Harry mopey and sad. Which then leaves Niall kinda sad.

“Hey, Styles, wanna help me with this banana bread? No idea what I’m doing,” Niall calls from the kitchen one night, even though he has a pretty good idea of what he’s doing.

God, he feels like he’s playing dumb to get a guy to like him.

Which, okay, is kind of what he’s doing. Not in a romantic sense. But still.

“I used to work in a bakery,” Harry says, tripping into the kitchen. “I can help!”

“Yep, ‘s why I asked,” Niall says, hiding his grin and swiping at his nose with his non-flour-covered forearm.

Harry dives right in, pulling more ingredients out of the cupboards that Niall didn’t even know they had – pure vanilla extract and twenty different spices and some weird-looking mixer.

“So, you from LA?” Niall asks, busying himself with buttering a bread pan.

“Nah,” Harry says, “I’m from London. My accent slips a little sometimes, dunno if you noticed. But I moved here a while ago, thought I’d try acting. Didn’t work out, obviously, but I got a job as an assistant to this fashion editor and it’s been cool. Weird hours and weirder work.”

“Neat,” Niall says. “Always wanted to visit London.”

Harry’s gently folding more flour into the bowl, forearm flexing with a steady rhythm that’s almost graceful.

“Hey,” Harry says, trying to sound offhand, but Niall can hear a trace of uncertainty. “What’s Zayn’s deal?”

“You mean, like, who is Zayn?” says Niall, licking the sheen of butter off his thumb. “Or why is Zayn such a dick lately?”

“Both, I guess,” Harry laughs. “Either. Mostly the dick one.”

Niall shrugs, tossing the buttered pan onto the stove and grabbing another one. “He likes to pretend to be all broody sometimes. Gets into funks, won’t come out until we pay attention to him and lure him out of his room.”

“Oh,” Harry says, fiddling with the lid to the cinnamon. “’Cos, you know, I thought it might have been me. Being here. Louis didn’t really ask before he let me move in –“

“Hey,” Niall says, leaning over to bump Harry’s shoulder with his. “It’s not you. Zayn’s a weird dude about things sometimes. He probably just doesn’t know what to do with you. He’ll come around. Now c’mon, let’s bake this shit. That smells _amazing_ , what did you put in this, here’s the pans –“

The bread comes out smelling like it was baked in God’s very own Heaven Oven and looks even better. Or at least as good as banana bread can look.

Zayn, no doubt drawn out of his room by the seductive aroma of Harry’s bread, wanders downstairs. Niall’s already got a plate waiting for him.

“Holy shit,” Zayn says, biting into a still-steaming slice. “This is fucking incredible.”

“All Harry,” Niall says, winking at Harry, who’s trying very hard to look indifferent to the praise.

“Ah,” says Zayn. “That’s right. You used to work in a _bakery_. Only heard that about ten times.”

Niall gives Zayn a Look, leveled across the pan of bread.

Zayn shrugs. Harry’s turned his back, doing the dishes.

“Whatever,” Zayn says, cutting a second generous slice and slinking back up to his room.

“Ignore him,” Niall says, the line of Harry’s shoulders drawn tight. “He practically came in his pants, eating your bread. Thanks for helpin’.”

“Any time,” Harry says brightly, vigorously soaping up the mixing bowls and splashing water up his shirt.

**3\. Liam**

Louis is admittedly a little crazy, but his judgement is sound for the most part. Liam approves of Harry. The guy’s a little weird but then again, so is the rest of the house.

Liam doesn’t really know what Zayn’s deal is. Harry’s cool.

“So, you and Louis, huh,” Harry says, shoving a giant handful of blue corn chips into his mouth, and Liam fumbles the Playstation controller.

Liam takes it all back. Harry is terrible.

“No – what, no,” he sputters. “Absolutely not.”

“Sure,” says Harry, winking. “So he’s just always in your room because he really loooves reading your comic books, right? And you go bright red when he takes his shirt off because you have temperature tolerance issues.”

“It’s not,” Liam says, trying to find something intelligent to say.

Harry sprawls his legs out in front of him on the coffee table. “Hey man, it’s cool. I’m in no place to judge. You guys are cute. What are you playing?”

“Fifa,” says Liam, carefully avoiding eye contact and starting a new game, tossing Harry a controller.

“Nice, how do you do this,” Harry says, poking at buttons and effectively shutting down the console.

Zayn slumps through the double doors to the living room, very shirtless and clad only in tiny little red shorts.

“Sup,” Liam says, as he turns the system back on.

Zayn doesn’t reply until he’s halfway through the opposite door into the kitchen.

“Nachos,” he says, muffled.

Out of the corner of his eye, Liam sees Harry’s face light up briefly and fall back into a neutral expression. Poor Harry. He’ll go make them some nachos after Zayn’s done in the kitchen.

Liam hears the dishwasher open and it sounds like Zayn’s rooting around for a spoon, until an _what the fuck_ filters out through the door, followed by an incredulous Zayn brandishing a sparkly, flopping dildo.

“What the fuck,” Zayn repeats, shaking the dildo at Harry.

“Shit,” Harry mumbles, yanking his feet off the coffee table and sitting up very straight, like it will help.

“In the fucking _dishwasher_? That’s fuckin’ nasty, man,” Zayn says.

Harry’s bright, bright red, sinking into the couch. Liam would laugh but Zayn looks like he’s about to assault Harry with the dildo.

“I read somewhere that it was the best way to clean them? And it’s like, totally sanitary, once the cycle goes, it’s completely clean, really, I’ll show you the study-“

Zayn holds up the hand not grasping the dildo. “Don’t wanna hear it.”

Yikes.

Liam pats Harry on the shoulder consolingly as Zayn turns on his heel and goes to finish making his nachos. “It’s okay, man. Like, yeah. Kinda weird. But I’m not judging you.”

“Thanks, Liam,” Harry mumbles, from where he’s stuffed his face into the corner of the couch.

**4\. Zayn**

Harry’s face! Priceless.

Zayn almost feels bad about giving him such a hard time, but he’s kind of enjoying watching Harry struggle, and then look after him longingly when he thinks Zayn isn’t looking.

Zayn supposes he doesn’t have to be quite as much as an ass. He’ll ease up on that.

Maybe most of it was because Harry was weirdly, unbearably attractive, and unless Zayn made a conscious effort to _not_ fuck him against every available surface, they would have definitely fucked against every available surface, making for an awkward roommate situation.

And Louis would probably get mad, and kick one of them out, and Zayn’s not totally sure that it would be Harry, given Zayn’s recent affinity for spray-painting everything and remodeling the upstairs bathroom without prior approval.

Even though Louis and Liam are about five seconds from fucking on the couch at any given time.

So.

He’ll try to be a little nicer.

Until he scrolls through the blogs he’s following later that night, and there’s [some gif](http://maddytinkerbell.tumblr.com/post/110438051765/zayn-and-harry) of some dark-haired guy sucking another guy’s dick, and come is fucking everywhere, and Zayn might start jacking off a little bit, and his asshole traitor of a brain starts suggesting really unhelpful things like _you know he wants you, just go fuck him already, why are you prolonging this suffering, you haven’t gotten laid since he moved in,_

And, you know, might as well. Harry looks like he’d be an incredible fuck, and he’s also kinky as hell, if those dildos are anything to go by.

Zayn side-eyes the sparkly black dildo he’d smuggled up from the kitchen.

**5\. Harry**

God.

Of all the people that could have found his dildos, it had to be Zayn. If there’s any proof that there is no higher power looking out for him, it’s that.

He’s usually very good about hearing the dishwasher cycle turn off.

Okay. They just have to move past this horrendously embarrassing, potentially unrecoverable situation! That’s all. Then they can be normal roommates.

Easy.

Harry’s honestly at the point where he’s considering googling ‘how to get people to not hate you’. But really, fuck Zayn. What a dick. Harry’s done nothing but be kind and gracious and it’s still not enough for that asshole.

Harry’s wiped, honestly, what a day – he finishes brushing his teeth, towels his face off, and heads back to his room.

The strip of light under Zayn’s door isn’t anything new; Zayn usually stays up until the early morning listening to music or working on art projects. Tonight, though, Harry can hear faint noise making its way out of Zayn’s room – little grunts, choked-off boy moans coupled with wet, slick sounds.

Harry’s glad Zayn’s getting some, to be completely honest. Maybe a good orgasm will clear his head a little bit and make him stop being such an asshole about everything.

It’s kind of hard not to listen, given that the wall is so thin and Zayn is making a lot of noise. It’s basic etiquette to jack off relatively quietly when others are within earshot.

Zayn sounds a little breathless, but the closer Harry listens, the more it sounds like Zayn’s completely alone. Harry finds himself holding his breath so he doesn’t miss anything, fingers clenched and twisted in the bedcovers, and he’s more than a little hard.

He feels a little bad, but. Whatever. Zayn’s the one caterwauling over there. And it really sounds like he’s fucking someone – wet, slick sucking noises. No one else is making noise, though. Harry’s gone at this point, his fingers trailing over his hard, leaking dick through his joggers.

Maybe Zayn’s got a fleshlight – he seems like the kind of guy that would have a fleshlight, for fuck’s sake – fucking up into it with his legs spread wide on the bed. No, the bed’s creaking too much; he’s probably got it stuffed into the blankets, leaning over on his elbows and fucking the bed as hard as he can, shivering with how good it feels, sweat pooling at the base of his spine. Zayn sounds like he’s getting close, little sobs and high-pitched pleas, and Harry forces his eyes shut to hear better, gripping his cock almost painfully hard.

Zayn would come into the toy, just like that, thick and hot and overflowing up around his cock, and then when he was done emptying his load into it, he’d toss it to Harry, and Harry’d slide it down around his own dick, hot and wet with Zayn’s come, making a filthy mess that Harry’d lick off his fingers.

“Fuck - _fuck_ ,” he hears Zayn moan, and Zayn goes quiet. Harry clenches his teeth hard as his cock pulses sympathetically in his pants.

Jesus, he needs to get off.

Zayn’s door opens and Harry can hear him washing his hands, finishing up in the bathroom.

“Harry?” Zayn knocks twice, soft.

Shit. Harry has the world’s most obvious boner. He throws a pillow over his lap, not obvious at all, and grabs his laptop so it doesn’t look like he’s just been chilling here listening to his roommate jerk off.

“Yeah,” he says, strained. “Come in.”

“Sup,” Zayn says, shutting Harry’s door behind him. He’s grinning, sharp and a little dangerous-looking. “You’ve been around?”

“Yeah,” says Harry. “Yep.”

Zayn’s in black silky boxers, holding Harry’s favorite dildo in his right hand. The sparkly black one.

“Hope you don’t mind,” Zayn says, tossing it at him. “I washed it thoroughly afterwards. You did leave it in the dishwasher, after all. Fair game.”

“That’s, uh,” Harry stutters. “It’s cool.”

“Yeah? Just finished with it, actually. You might have heard me.”

“Caught – a couple moments of that, actually,” Harry chokes out.

“Mm,” Zayn says offhandedly, walking closer. His neck and chest are still flushed red. “Leaves you all stretched out real nice. I’m still all wet.”

This can’t be real life.

Apparently it is, because Zayn climbs on top of him, straddling his lap and tossing the pillow and laptop to the floor.

“Was thinkin’ about you, you know,” Zayn purrs, low in Harry’s ear.

“Ah,” says Harry, unable to think clearly, because Zayn’s skin is hot and dry under his fingertips, and he’s just imagining Zayn all wet and loose for him, leaking lube into his underwear.

“Yeah,” Zayn says, shuffling his boxers down his legs and yanking at Harry’s joggers. Harry gets the message, reaching down to shove his pants and underwear down along his thighs. Zayn gives Harry’s dick a couple harsh strokes, an incredible relief after it being shoved up against his zipper for so long. “Thought about coming in here, sliding down on your cock just like this – “

Zayn lines him up, the drag of Harry’s cockhead against his slick, puffy hole unbearable, and wiggles his hips down, sliding the tip of Harry’s cock in.

“Fucking hell,” Harry gets out. Zayn’s working his hips in little waves, back and forth, his dick getting hard again as he sinks down in levels. It’s fucking unreal, is what it is. Zayn’s still so tight around him, hot and wet and slick and making the most incredible filthy noises.

Zayn’s grinning, leaning down to bite at Harry’s neck. “Let’s see what you got, Styles. I’ve heard you fucking all those boys you bring home. C’mon, fuck me. You’ve certainly had enough practice.”

“Do you ever shut up,” Harry says, finally getting some brain function back, and wraps his arms around Zayn’s slim middle, forcibly lifting him up and slamming him down onto his cock.

Zayn lets out a shaky moan, clenching on Harry’s cock like he can’t help it, and goes completely limp in Harry’s grip. Harry lifts him up again, pulling him down as he grinds his hips, and Zayn sobs a moan into Harry’s neck, letting Harry fuck up into him fast and hard. Zayn’s ass is slapping loud against Harry’s legs, bouncing with the force.

“Fuck, c’mon – fuck me, fuck me, your cock, jesus,” Zayn groans, and Harry tilts his hips back, trying to get at that spot inside Zayn. “Yeahhh,” Zayn moans, practically sobbing between his shaky exhales.

Harry sneaks a hand between them to jack Zayn’s cock, dry and rough and definitely uncomfortable, but Zayn just pants into Harry’s neck, clenches up even tighter, and comes all over Harry’s chest.

That’s about all it takes for Harry – Zayn’s dick is pressed up against his stomach, smearing come slick all over them, and Harry shoves his cock into Zayn’s messy hole once more, twice, and comes, thick and hot inside Zayn, pulling out to stuff his come back in with the head of his cock, the hot glide almost painful.

“Fuck,” Harry says, shaking as he pulls out, oversensitive.

Zayn’s panting, slumped sideways off Harry’s lap on the bed. He runs a tentative finger around where he’s all stretched out and puffy, Harry’s come dripping out of him, and his stomach clenches helplessly.

“Goddamn,” he breathes.

“I’ve never had hate sex,” Harry muses, thumbing over Zayn’s hipbone.

“Yeah, me neither,” Zayn says, yanking Harry down beside him and kissing him roughly. “Now stop talking. Wanna show me how you use that dildo later?”

“Do I get to put it in the dishwasher?” Harry asks.


End file.
